


Photograph (You're the Only One I Wanna Touch Remix)

by MidniteMarauder



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: remix_redux, Community: remixredux06, Drama, Gen, Hogwarts, Humor, M/M, MWPP, Marauders' Era, Masturbation, Pre-Slash, Remix, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-02
Updated: 2006-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 12:29:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidniteMarauder/pseuds/MidniteMarauder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A picture is worth a thousand words. Eight vignettes (or "snapshots") about various photographs in Sirius' photo album from all seven years at Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photograph (You're the Only One I Wanna Touch Remix)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to inksheddings for the beta and for cheering me on, archon_mentha &amp; ladyblack888 for the same as always, and thanks also to wildestranger for answering my Brit-slang questions! (All errors are of course mine!) Funky title nicked from the song "Photograph" by Def Leppard.
> 
> Written for the 2006 remixredux challenge, and based upon the lovely story [Photograph](http://community.livejournal.com/katfix/11859.html) by kyasuriin. Many thanks to musesfool for all of her hard work in organizing and running remix!

**i. family album**

He had been dreading coming home for Christmas holidays. Nearly four months since that sodding hat had ruined his life, shaming him in the eyes of his family. He'd felt their disapproval and condemnation with each letter, as if the ink itself was mocking him, the parchment, embossed with the family crest, a cruel taunt.

_We shall discuss this aberration over the Holidays,_ his mother had written, vitriol dripping from each curve and loop of script. _In the interim, I expect you to comport yourself as befitting a Black despite the rabble with which you are surrounded._

Rabble.

Well, that Potter was a right mudblood-loving insufferable bastard, all right. Pettigrew was a titchy little thing, clearly terrified of him, and Sirius took immense satisfaction in sending him off whimpering with a mere look. It was that Lupin kid who truly puzzled him. A half-blood, he reckoned; Pureblood father, mudblood mother, rather plain, quiet, polite and agreeable enough, if somewhat prone to illness. Bit of a swot, really, and he certainly did well enough in their classes.

In fact, to Sirius' shame, both Lupin and that red-headed mudblood had been first to levitate their feathers in Charms, though he'd redeemed himself in Transfiguration (and infuriated Potter) by producing a perfect silver needle on his first try. (The fact that he'd earned ten points for Gryffindor as a result had both pleased and irritated him.)

But what baffled him most about Lupin was his refusal to hate Sirius in the way his other erstwhile housemates seemed to take great pride and pleasure. In fact, Lupin actually had the gall to _smile_ at him that day in Transfiguration when he'd earned house points; to quietly help Sirius pick up his books when the third year Gryffindors spelled his book bag to split open and spill its contents in the hallway; to explain to McGonagall that it was, in fact, the two fourth year Gryffindor boys presently unconscious at her feet who had attacked Sirius first, earning him a steely-eyed look from their Head of House, but denying him the detention he felt he so richly deserved.

When Sirius confronted him, Lupin would merely shrug, mumble something about their being roommates, and go about his business without further argument. In fact, nothing he said or did seemed to rile this unassuming boy. Lupin would merely frown at him, an expression not of anger, but rather _disappointment_. Disappointment! It was somewhat…disturbing, and after a while, Sirius had given up trying out of sheer frustration.

They certainly weren't friends – Lupin was well beneath him after all – but it troubled him nonetheless that he should feel… indebted, and though he was loath to admit it, occasionally grateful for his kindness. Of course, any mention of even the slightest association with the half-blood Lupin was omitted from his letters home.

Now it was Christmas morning and the family was sat down at the table enjoying Christmas luncheon; proper, traditional and without frivolous ornaments like Christmas Crackers, which Mother claimed were far too uncivilized. He'd been subjected to hours-long lectures daily since his arrival: reminders of his station, his expected role in the family, directives to continue to shun the unworthy and bring honour to the family by excelling in his studies, and redundant instruction in the history of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, lest he forget.

Considering his expectations of harsh punishment and derision, he felt he'd got off rather lightly.

After the meal, they adjourned to the parlour for the traditional opening of presents, and he was relieved to note that he had not been snubbed – in fact his pile appeared to be even larger than Regulus'. He opened his gifts neatly; the House Elves hovered beside them, whisking away the empty boxes after each item was unwrapped.

There was no cause for jubilation or behavior which his mother would deem a 'childish outburst'. His gifts were always somber and proper, and distinctly _unGryffindorish_, and this year was no exception.

The first box contained several books, including a biography of Salazar Slytherin. Another revealed more expensive silk robes – two sets of black ones with dark green trim and lining of course. Two new scarves, one a deep green silk, the other a green and black cashmere with matching black gloves. Thick vellum parchment embossed with the Black Family crest, peacock and diricawl feather quills, and inks of the finest quality. An intricately engraved sterling silver pocket watch with 18-karat gold inlay which once belonged to his Great-Great-Grandfather, Phineas Nigellus. More boxes spilled their contents and there were several other family heirlooms made of precious metals and gems, most of which would remain behind when he returned to school.

There was always one gift that was usually something a bit more personal, and he saved that elegantly wrapped present for last, holding his breath and restraining himself from showing hopeful excitement. He was utterly disappointed when he unwrapped the large box and found a leather-bound photograph album inside.

He ran his fingers lightly over the cover, the leather soft and smooth, and expensive, no doubt. He opened the cover, and on the first page of vellum dyed a deep green was an inscription:

_To Sirius. Mother and Father._

No 'Happy Christmas', no 'With love' or 'Fondly'.

He flipped through the pages, gazing down at the sombre faces of his ancestors staring back at him. They were wizarding photos, yet the people in them barely moved, hardly blinked – even the children; Prim, proper and Blacks, the lot of them. When he reached the photos of his parents and himself and Regulus, he closed the book abruptly, disconcerted by the effigy with his face staring gravely and haughtily back at him.

He blinked, masking his feelings behind a neutral expression, and looked up at his parents.

"Thank you, Mother, Father. The gifts are lovely," he said, all the while thinking of what he hadn't received – the things he never received and had stopped asking for years ago: no special holiday sweets, nothing bearing any resemblance to a toy, no top-of-the-line broomstick, no camera or wizarding wireless of his own, and certainly no photographs with happy, smiling faces.

He handed the photograph album to Kreacher and turned back to accept a small glass of port from his father. No sense in dwelling on childish longings. He was a Black after all, and a Black did what was expected of him.

 

**ii. second chances**

"I can't believe he's still sleeping!" James spluttered through his mouthful of pumpkin pasty, spitting crumbs down the front of his robes. He gestured wildly towards Remus with the hand holding the uneaten half of the treat, causing more crumbs to drop all over the floor of the compartment.

"Maybe he was up late last night," Peter said, nibbling on a chocolate frog. "Or maybe he had to wake up really early to get to the station on time," he added, wiping his chocolate-covered fingers on his robes.

Sirius scowled at his friends and neatly swallowed the last bite of a pepper imp. "You two are disgusting."

"What?" James asked, spraying out more crumbs.

Sirius made an exaggerated show of wiping his face, and shook his head. "Right slob. Didn't your parents teach you any manners at all?"

"Don't talk about my parents like that! 'Course they did. But they're not here, are they?"

"Just because they aren't here doesn't mean you have to eat like a troll."

"Troll, am I? And just who was it stuffing their face with extra treacle at the feast last term?"

"I never!"

"Did too!"

"You're a liar, Potter!"

"Am not! And you eat like a girl! Always so neat and tidy. Bet you'd choke if you tried to take more than a dainty little girly bite!"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"You're on then. What are we betting?"

"You have to eat three whole pasties at once without choking – and swallow it! No spitting it out. And no cheating with magic, either. No wands! When you lose, I get that box of dungbombs you've been bragging about having hidden in your trunk."

"Fine, and if I win? How about your new broomstick?"

"Are you daft? No way is my broomstick worth even an entire crate of dungbombs."

"Well, it's not like I'd want your sweets when I've got my own, or your quidditch magazines or comic books. What else've you got? How about your cloak?"

James dropped the pasty he'd been unwrapping. "You're completely mental! And how'd you know about that anyway? I was waiting to see if you turned back into a snake over summer hols before trusting you with that secret. You were spying on me!"

"As if I ever needed to spy. You're far too obvious about it. And what's the matter," Sirius drawled, "scared to bet against me because you know I'll win?"

"Ha! M'not scared of you! No way you'll win, but fine, if a miracle happens, you can have my camera. Got it for Christmas last year. Fair enough?"

"Adequate. Now what was it I have to do? Eat three pasties at once?"

*~*

"Still can't believe he slept through that whole thing," James grumbled, kicking his feet angrily against Remus' seat cushion.

"Leave him alone, he's probably sick again," Sirius said, looking at Remus through the lens of his new camera, and snapping a picture of the sleeping, slightly drooling boy. He'd already taken several of James and couldn't wait to get the film developed to see the sullen expression on his face again and again and again.

"Want another pasty?" he taunted, putting down the camera and holding one out, waggling it under James' nose. "They're quite good, you know. I think they're my new favourite food."

"Sod off!"

"Never bet against a Black," he said smugly, and tossed the pasty to Peter instead.

 

**iii. ripples in a pond**

"You're bloody insane, the lot of you! I hope the squid eats you. Oi! Not you, too, Peter! Argh!"

Sirius laughed as James was splashed from head to foot as a result of Peter's inelegant but quite effectual plunge into the lake. "That was a thing of beauty, Pete! Couldn't have done it better myself."

"It's f-freezing!" Peter squeaked. "You lied!"

"Well, if we'd said so, you wouldn't have jumped in, would you? Nothing a little Pepper-Up won't cure. You'll get used to it in a minute," Sirius promised, treading water and no longer bothering to hide his chattering teeth.

"N-not so b-bad once you're in. The s-squid really won't eat us, will it?"

"Of course not. It's very friendly," Remus replied, surfacing beside him. "Watch."

A tentacle rose from the water and Remus grabbed on to it, laughing as the Squid lifted him into the air and playfully tossed him several yards deeper into the lake. He surfaced a moment later, spluttering and smiling broadly as he swam back towards them.

"C'mon Pete," Sirius said. "Give it a try. It's fun. Here – look, it wants to play," he said, grabbing onto the proffered tentacle. "Grab that other one."

Peter looked dubious at first, but Sirius' shouts as he flew through the air were accompanied by Peter's higher pitched squeals. They were both grinning maniacally as they swam back towards the shore, pausing briefly to admire Remus' flailing limbs as he went soaring over their heads.

"C'mon, Potter," Sirius called. "Don't be such a bloody girl."

James lowered the camera and crossed his arms across his chest. "M'not a girl! You know I hate cold water, and it's not even summer."

"You and your nancy excuses. Put down my camera and get your skinny arse in here! C'mon – it'll grow hair on your chest, and you could use all the help you can get. Or do I have to dare you?" Sirius taunted.

"Right. That's it," James replied, swiftly removing his robe and placing it, along with his glasses and the camera, on a nearby rock. "You asked for it, Black," he cried, taking a running head start and leaping.

 

**iv. shiny and new **

"Dumbledore must be out of his bloody mind," Remus said for the tenth time in the past five minutes.

It was summer holidays and the four friends were visiting at James' house for a week. Their school letters had all arrived approximately six-and-a-half minutes ago.

"Better you than me, mate," Sirius said, mussing Remus' hair. "Not that I had even the slightest chance of getting that badge. Face it, Moony. You were a dead cert for it."

"But I don't _want_ to be Prefect," Remus moaned. "Here, James. You take it."

James held his hands up palms out and took a step back. "Not that I wouldn't take every opportunity to abuse the authority, but… no thanks. Sirius had it right. No chance for me either. I've got just as many detentions as he-"

"I'm four up on you."

"Right. Besides, I've already got my own," he said, pointing proudly to where his Captain of Quidditch badge was already pinned to his t-shirt.

Sirius thought it looked rather silly and had wasted no time in telling James what a plonker he was, and obviously the only reason he'd got it was McGonagall had got used to having the Cup sitting in her office and was taking no chances on losing it to Slughorn. It was only when he noticed Remus not joining in the banter that he'd looked over to find his friend looking pale and rather shocked, staring forlornly at the shiny badge in his hand.

"You'll be a great Prefect, Moony," Peter said, chucking him on the shoulder. "And these two will have to listen to you now. Else you'll throw them in detention."

They all turned to stare at Peter. Remus, with his jaw slack and mouth gaping, plainly looked as if Peter had finally gone round the twist. James and Sirius burst out laughing.

"R-Remus. Us. D-Detention," Sirius spluttered. He was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes. He reached out and grabbed onto the back of a nearby chair for support, lest he fall over and join James, who was currently writhing and clutching his stomach, rather like an erumpent with indigestion, on the floor beneath Sirius' feet.

"Peter, mate that has to be the funniest thing you've ever said," he added once he'd gotten his breath back. "Sorry Moony, but…" He shrugged his shoulders apologetically which might have been more effective if he hadn't begun snorting with laughter again mid-shrug.

Remus scowled and lowered his forehead to the table with a considerable thump. "Bugger me." He thumped his forehead again. "Dumbledore is completely out of his bleeding mind." _Thump_.

"Oi! Stop that you idiot," Sirius said, pulling Remus up by his hair. "You'll hurt yourself."

"As opposed to you hurting me by ripping all my hair out of my head," Remus grumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

"You'll be great with the lower years. And at least the ickle Firsties will feel safe around you."

"Yeah, until you and James start hexing them all behind my back. Ta, Sirius. That makes me feel ever so much better about this."

"Well, maybe we'll let you take a few house points so McGonagall doesn't think you're completely ineffectual," James said, getting to his feet and smacking Remus soundly on the back.

Remus groaned and thumped his head on the table again.

"What's all this?" Mrs Potter asked, walking into the kitchen and heading for the pantry. "Are you lads hungry? Silly question, of course you are. I've got some lovely biscuits you can have with your tea if– Oh, are those your school letters come already?" she asked, placing the tin on the table and moving off to put the kettle on.

"Lovely. We can go to Diagon Alley this week if you like and pick up your new books. James, dear, you'll need new robes, and I'm sure you boys do as well. Growing like weeds the lot of you! And… oh, James is that… Quidditch Captain?"

She put down the tea things and hugged her son tightly to her bosom while Sirius snickered at him over her shoulder.

"You'll have to fire call your father, dear, straight away. He'll be so proud! And Remus! Prefect?" She let go her son and bustled over to embrace Remus, fawning over his badge. "Just lovely, dear. Lovely! You must be so proud. You'll have to floo your mum and tell her the wonderful news.

"Sirius," she said in the same breath, turning and straightening up, "go on and fetch your camera, dear. I want photos of this. It's a special day, after all. And James, do go and put on a nice set of robes instead of that tatty Muggle clothing. Your badge will look so much nicer. Go on! You too, Remus," she added, shooing them from the kitchen. "Peter, dear, you can stay and help me set the table for tea.

"And do try to do something with your hair, James," she called after them. "You could use some of my pomade. It worked wonderfully the last time. On the dresser in my bath."

James was blushing as he led the way upstairs, taking two at a time in his haste to escape any further embarrassment from his mum. Sirius exchanged a grin with Remus and casually slung his arm around Remus' shoulder as they followed more sedately, side by side up the stairs.

 

**v. make a wish**

He lay on his back on top of his blankets, curtains drawn around his bed, the only light a dim glow from his wand tip beside him on his pillow. It was just bright enough to see the small stack of photos he held in his hand.

He'd taken these only two days before, on Remus' 17th birthday. There were pictures of Remus blushing in the ridiculous hat they'd made him wear for the party in the common room, Remus opening his presents, and even one of the four of them toasting the occasion with the illegal firewhisky he'd got the week before from Rosmerta – procured by means of a few galleons and a lot of shameless flirting.

And he'd managed a nice shot of Remus blowing out the two dozen trick candles they'd adorned his cake with, blowing them out again when they relit, blowing them a third time, and then when they relit yet again, tackling James, who was standing next to him laughing uproariously, and wrestling him to the ground.

It was one of his favourites because he loved watching the way Remus moved. All long legs, big feet, gangly knees and pointy elbows, you'd almost expect him to be clumsy and awkward. But Remus knew control, and there was a quiet grace about him that few ever bothered to notice. His movements were fluid and sure, and even with nearly twelve stone of James Potter kicking and squirming beneath him, he never lost his sense of dignity.

Remus had once read a passage from a book out loud to him – Remus often read out loud to him things that particularly caught his fancy, and Sirius' own love of reading for pleasure had been a direct result of Remus' influence. But this particular passage had spoken of the poetry of motion, or perhaps it had been 'poetry in motion'. He wasn't sure and didn't know which book it was or who the author had been because he'd stopped listening after that particular phrase and had simply watched.

He'd watched the way Remus' hand had caressed the aged broadcloth cover while his other hand had danced in the air, fingers moving like willow branches in the wind. His face was a study in expressive animation, the way his eyebrows lifted and fell with each syllable, the enthusiasm in his eyes, and the way the left one would crinkle just so in the corner, eyelashes fluttering, lips and tongue and jaw working smoothly, a flush of excitement on his pale cheeks. The memory was still clear, and even now, months later without a photograph to hand, he could recall each detail.

Looking at the photo before him now, he realized Remus _was_ poetry in motion, though if Sirius was ever daft enough to speak these things aloud, Remus would surely clout him and demand to know how long he'd been sneaking Amortentia from Slughorn's private cupboard.

He'd admonished Remus so many times for keeping secrets, yet here was one he'd kept and would continue to keep because there was simply no other option. It was a bit frightening, all these feelings; frustration, comfort, lust, tenderness, fear, concern, desire, even anger and jealousy. And if he were being honest, love. It was alarming enough to experience one or two at a time at an inappropriate moment, but lately he'd felt so overwhelmed. He simply wasn't made for patience or for bottling up emotions. Each time he tried, they had an irritating tendency of manifesting themselves in his other reckless pursuits.

_Mustn't slip up. It would ruin everything._

But here, alone in his bed at night…

"Nox," he whispered, sighing. He leant over the side of his bed and carelessly shoved the pictures inside his photograph album underneath, casting a quick silencing spell before putting his wand on the bedside table. (None of them slept with their wands under their pillows now; not after Peter had accidentally set his pillow and sheets on fire during a particular dream fourth year. He'd lost the hair on one side of his head as well as his eyebrows before they'd managed to stop laughing long enough to put the fire out.)

He lay back, closing his eyes and pushing his pyjama bottoms down, fingers playing lightly over the smooth skin of his inner thigh. He lifted his shirt with his other hand and slowly circled his fingertip around his nipple and the sparse hairs growing there, feeling it harden beneath his touch, imagining it was Remus' hands, long elegant fingers dancing across his skin.

The fingers of his lower hand trailed over his balls, making his cock twitch in anticipation, and he pinched his nipple with his upper hand and moaned softly in the darkness.

As his fingers moved along the shaft of his prick and around the head, he visualized the picture of Remus tackling James, only it wasn't James' body writhing underneath the hard angles and smooth planes of Remus' body, but rather his own.

He pinched his nipple harder, twisting it a bit, and brought his other hand to his mouth, licking at the drops of sticky wetness there, imagining that it was Remus he was tasting on his tongue instead of himself, wondering just what he would taste like, and if he'd ever dare to find out.

He lowered his hand and wrapped his fingers (Remus' fingers) around his cock once again, watching behind his closed eyes as Remus loomed above him, pinning him down. He thrust up into his fist, (Remus' fist), pinching his nipple harder still and imagining it was Remus instead who was lowering his head and taking that nipple into his mouth; watching as Remus' lips closed around it, sucking and biting and licking at him while his hand continued to squeeze and slide up and down the shaft of Sirius' cock, thumb circling the head each time, over and over, up and down, harder, faster…

"Oh, God, Remus…" he whispered and groaned as he came. The fantasy, so comforting only moments before, faded from his vision, a ring of smoke drifting and diffusing in the breeze, leaving him empty and alone like always.

Sighing, he pulled his pyjama bottoms back up with a soft snap and lowered his shirt, not even bothering to clean himself off, and curled up on his side, surrendering himself to his dreams.

 

**vi. good for your heart **

"Everything all right there, Pete?"

"Yes, fine. Thanks for loaning me the camera, Sirius," Peter said as he sat down for lunch, carefully placing the camera on the table next to his plate. "You'll help me develop the film, won't you?"

"Not a problem. Just need to nick a few things from Slughorn for that."

"You could just _ask_ him for them, you know," Remus said, frowning as he spooned beans onto his toast.

"But sneaking in and stealing them is much more fun," he replied, fixing himself a second cheese and pickle sandwich. "Didn't you have beans on toast for breakfast?"

"Keeping track of my diet are you?" Remus asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You-know-what's next week. Shouldn't you be eating rare meat or something? There's steak and kidney pudding today." He gestured to the large bowl in front of James.

Remus rolled his eyes. "I like beans on toast."

"Yes, we know. House Elves bring it special for their favourite ickle Moonykins," James teased, batting his eyelashes and grinning at the scowl on Remus' face. "You know, not only does he take note of how often you eat them, he also lies awake at night and counts how many times you fart in your sleep."

"Seventeen times is his record so far, but if he has them again for supper, might be at least eighteen or nineteen tonight. A round twenty if there's cabbage or Brussels sprouts."

"I do not blow-off in my sleep," Remus said indignantly, taking a large bite of toast and purposely chewing with his mouth open to annoy Sirius. "Peter! I can't believe you took a picture of that! Prat! I'm ripping that one up for sure. And certainly not seventeen times," he added, narrowing his eyes at Sirius.

"Seventeen times," he confirmed, smirking.

"You've farted more than seventeen times in a day," Remus countered. "And who could forget that horribly rank one you blew off last year when McGonagall was standing right behind you?"

"Classic, that one," Peter agreed, laughing.

"Ah, yes. I was quite proud of that one in particular," Sirius said fondly. "Stunk up the hallway for hours, and McGonagall was too naffed off to take house points or give me detention for hexing that Slytherin firstie."

"That 'Slytherin firstie' was your brother, you idiot," Remus scolded.

"I know! It was brilliant!"

"D'ya think it would work again?" Peter asked thoughtfully.

"Probably not, but eat some of Remus' beans anyway. We can leave Slughorn a calling card later."

Peter grinned at Sirius and eagerly reached for the dish of beans.

 

**vii. magic touch**

Remus groaned, gingerly lifted his arm and covered his eyes with his forearm.

"What is this obsession you've got with that camera?"

"One day you'll thank me for these," Sirius replied, snapping another shot of Remus lying on his bed looking exhausted and pretending not to notice the way Remus' pyjama top rode up, exposing a sizable expanse of smooth pale skin.

He zoomed in, unconsciously focusing the lens on the line of light brown hair just below his navel, and followed the trail to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. With a wistful sigh, he changed the lens setting back to wide without snapping a photo.

This moon had been a good one as far as injuries were concerned. The nastiest – a large gash that had fairly gaped across his right hipbone early this morning – was barely noticeable now and would likely be gone by tomorrow morning, along with the worst of the aches and the exhaustion.

The fact that Madame Pomfrey had released Remus from that prison of a Hospital Wing instead of making him spend the night like he used to was testament to the success of the Animagus project. That they had actually pulled it off without suffering any permanent disfigurements or loss of bodily functions or limbs was a great source of pride. It still made him giddy thinking about it even months later.

"_Thank_ you? Not bloody likely."

"Oh. You say that now. Just you wait. In twenty years when you're a stuffy old codger who's completely lost his mind, his hair, and his sense of humour – and you're nearly there with that last bit already, mind – you'll ply me with sweets and firewhisky, and even offer depraved sexual favours in return for just a _peek_ at my artistic genius."

"Right. In twenty years you'll be long dead because I'll have beaten you to death with that blasted camera."

"You wound me, Moony. Truly."

 

"Might even be worth Azkaban."

"You're cute when you're cranky."

"And you're an annoying bugger who won't piss off," Remus retorted hoarsely.

Sirius put the camera down and sat on the edge of Remus' bed. "Right then. Budge up and turn over."

"Go 'way and let me suffer in peace."

Sirius rolled his eyes and reached out to gently roll him onto his belly. "You sweet-talker. No wonder the birds are all over you all the time. C'mon."

Sirius sucked in his breath and let it out slowly as he climbed over Remus, straddling him and willing his insolent prick to behave itself. He smoothed the material of Remus' shirt, hands lingering perhaps a tad too long on his waist before he moved them up to Remus' shoulders. He squeezed gently, his thumbs circling and soothing the sore and aching muscles, and felt Remus exhale and relax beneath him.

"Ta, P'foot," Remus mumbled sleepily. "F'ls good."

"You can apologize properly with flowers and sweets in the morning," he replied, his hands deftly moving over Remus' back, down his arms and up to his shoulders, down to the dip in his lower back and up along his spine, over and over.

Remus usually fell asleep fairly quickly, but that was never a reason for him to stop. These were the only times he could touch Remus so intimately, and he was quite loath to sacrifice even a minute.

James and Peter would be back from the kitchens soon. He hoped they'd got something good, maybe some leftover pudding from supper. He glanced over at his camera sitting on the floor beside the bed and hoped that maybe tonight James or Peter would finally take the hint and snap a photograph of the two of them like this.

If not, well, there was always next month.

 

**viii. bookends**

Peering cautiously around the double doors, Sirius tiptoed into the Hospital Wing, past the slightly ajar door to the matron's office and past the rows of empty beds to the single occupied one in the far corner.

"Moony," he whispered before slipping around the tall screens that hid the bed and its patient from the rest of the room.

Remus was sleeping. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, but his features were relaxed and his lip was healed. He looked much better than he had earlier, when his eyes had been fever-bright and squinty, and he'd been grimacing in pain, his lower lip puffy and raw, bitten nearly straight through. Sirius heaved a sigh of relief, shrugged off the invisibility cloak and stuffed it into his bag after removing the book he'd brought for Remus to read when he woke up. He placed the book on the bedside table, pulled the lone chair a bit closer to the bed and sat down, dropping his bag to the floor beside him.

He was supposed to be in History of Magic right now, his last class of the day, and would most likely receive a detention or two if caught. But History class was dull and sleep-inducing – Binns wouldn't even notice his absence – and besides, it was James' turn this month to take notes for Remus.

He wasn't quite sure exactly why he had come, why he had skived off the only class he could sleep through without risk of impunity, but he was worried for Remus and knew that he needed to be here with him. He'd slept fitfully last night as he had every full moon night for the past year and a half, and they'd all rushed down here early this morning before breakfast. They'd only managed to see him for a few minutes before Madame Pomfrey had shooed them out. Remus had looked bloody awful.

He'd returned before lunch, but Madame Pomfrey hadn't allowed him past the doors. She'd told him Remus was just fine despite appearances to the contrary earlier, needed rest, and that he should come back tomorrow.

"And tomorrow does _not_ mean 12:01 a.m., Mr Black!" she'd admonished, shaking her head at his frown of disappointment. "Not until after breakfast if you please."

Sod tomorrow. He wasn't going to leave Remus on his own for a whole day in this miserable place, alone and bored to death. He picked up the book and paged through it, considered reading aloud to him but decided it wouldn't be very wise or stealthy, and returned it to the dresser. He felt anxious and unusually fidgety – not that he was one to sit still for long to begin with, a condition for which he entirely blamed James – and he thrust his hands in his pockets to still them, slouching in the chair, and completely ignoring the faint echo of his Mother's voice in his head chastising him about his poor posture.

He turned his attention back to Remus and watched his friend sleep, watching the slow, even rise-and-fall of his chest with each breath, and slowing his own breathing rhythm to match. In… out… in… out…

He closed his eyes, listening to the quiet exhalations of the two of them breathing in tandem, and felt himself relax. Even unconscious, Remus knew how to comfort him.

It should have been unsettling, this feeling, this growing realization. But somehow it wasn't. Somehow it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Was it an unnatural thing in a natural world or a natural thing in an unnatural world? Or perhaps it was a most unnatural thing in an infernally unnatural world. His world had always been unnatural and a bit twisted – bent – anyway. Why should he be any different? He smiled wryly at the irony of the thought and opened his eyes.

Remus was still asleep, and he simply sat quietly and continued to watch, the smile on his lips genuine, and his mind content with no trace of irony or denial. After a while, he reached for his bag and removed his camera from the side pocket. He wanted – no, he _needed_ a reminder of the peace of this moment, and if Remus hated being photographed, well, he wouldn't have to know.

Remus tossed a bit fretfully in his sleep, the movement causing his hair to fall over his eyes. Watching through the lens of the camera, Sirius reached out and gently brushed the hair away, smoothing it back. He laid his hand on Remus' forehead, his palm cool against sleep-warm skin, before removing it and snapping the picture.

He put the camera back in his bag and checked his watch; nearly time for supper. He slipped the invisibility cloak on and turned to go. Pausing, he turned back, leant over the bed and placed a gentle ghostly kiss to Remus' forehead.

As he turned to leave for the second time, he could have sworn he saw Remus smile in his sleep.

_~fin~_


End file.
